


Knead a mend?

by Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish



Series: Inktober 2020 SanCor fest [20]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Final Fantasy XV, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, F/M, Seamstress, get ready for baker/seamstress au, you’ve heard of florist/tattooist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27157045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish/pseuds/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish
Summary: Inktober prompt #22: ChefCor’s bakery finally opens across Sansa’s shop.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Cor Leonis
Series: Inktober 2020 SanCor fest [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948696
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Knead a mend?

Tromping down the stairs from her above store apartment to her shop, Sansa landed in the back room, where there were racks filled with hung clothes that were a mixture of pressed, mended, and/or newly made, covered in plastic coverings and ready for the customer to pick them up. Running a hand over them, she reached the closest one to the door, and grabbed the metal, dragging the wheeled rack with her movements.

Then, opening the door to the main front of the store, Sansa can’t help to look of pride as she observed her store, just like every morning, whilst dragging the rack into the room and setting it by the ironing board. A long wooden counter that ran the width of the shop toward the front of the room, that had a register front and centre. Along the rest of the counter was empty space for mending and embroidering, with small drawers below the counter containing sewing supplies. The wall on the left had fabric rolled and stored on large selves, and to the right was two washing machines and driers. At the back of the store, where the back room entrance was centred, on either side was a steamer and table, and then an ironing board with the rack right next to it, fitting snug in between the board and shelves. And in the very centre of the room was a sewing table, with enough space to walk around.

It was a little less spacious after she had all her supplies put in after buying the shop, but it was cozy for her, with warm lighting, dark brown wooden floors, and a soft, subtle pink painting walls.

She took a deep breath of the room, smelling like lavenders from the pots of plants that lined her windowsill, and got to work. She had stopped in the middle of some mending last night after closing, having worked until her eyes blurred, and all that was needed to be finished was hemming the bottom iof the last dress she was working on.

Checking her wrist watch, she noted the time, and decided she had enough to finish before opening. So sitting down, she got to work, running the dress under the sewing machine.

Sansa loved her job. Loved the repetitiveness of the motions of sewing, of embroidering. Loved the customers she met, mainly the regulars. The life was less stifling than the one her parents had planned for her.

Humming under her breath, she cut the thread, and brushed the dress off of any stray fluff then brought it to the back of the room by the ironing board, hanging it the rack with all the other finished products that just needed some ironing. This rack was of clothes that were due to be picked up either today or tomorrow. With a satisfied sigh Sansa checked the time again, and got to cleaning up her workspace, sweeping the floor and wiping down the counter tops.

Lifting the hinged countertop, and coming to the front entrance of the store, where the customers would gather, she brushed down the wooden waiting seats on the far right and left side of the area, and then finally unlocked the front door, turning the sign around.

Stepping out into the morning summer air, Sansa breathed it in, looking up at the blue sky. The street was a mixture of town houses and apartment/shops like her’s. Many small business dotted down the street, and it wasn’t big on heavy vehicle traffic. It was almost idyllic and at times Sansa wondered at how lucky she was to find such as place.

Just as Sansa about stepped back into her store, she spotted movement across the street. For the past few months, Sansa had been observing the renovations for the shop opening up right across from her’s. She didn’t know who was the new owner, nor what they would be selling. For a second she had hoped it would be another florist, having bought many a bouquet from the previous one and was disappointed when they closed shop. However, she doubted it going by the tables she spotted in the shop, most likely some king of cafe.

Sansa had noticed at least three different men flitting in and out of the story, repainting, bring in wood and materials. She was curious and started to get impatient on what kind of store it would be, excited for new people. Despite the street being quite a long one, many of the shop owners and works knew of each other, if only vaguely. 

And now, looking at the name of the shop, she finally knows what kind of store it would be.

‘ _Combat Bready_ ’

The snort that left her was harder than she expected, but what can she say, Sansa loved a good pun. Her own shop name was also a play on words. After taking another good look at the store, it seemed that all the construction was finished on the outside, and all that was left was to open the store. Deciding to take a look during her lunch break, she went back inside, the door bell tinkling lightly.

Cor would admit that becoming a baker was not his first idea for jobs after the military. In fact, he was tempted to just find a job at a hardware store, but the thought of interacting with people made his stomach churn. Not like being a baker isn’t interacting with people, but at the very least, with Prompto wanting a job, Cor could just put him on the register and disappear into the sanctuary of the kitchen.

After being medically discharged from the army, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Having joined at eighteen he expected to either live out the required years in the army and then retire. Or die in combat.

Injury to the nerves in his hands had caused uncontrollable tremors after the wounds had healed and when Cor noticed that in shooting practise, not only would his wrist ache and clench up at times, the shaking fingers would jar the trigger, making the gun go off without his permission. After being deemed a potential hazards, he was put onto the reserves.

But front line combat was where he excelled, and a pencil pusher may be good for some people, but not for him. So he got himself honourably discharged, and was left with no home, no car, shaking hands, and PTSD.

Twenty-eight and only ten years in the army, Cor was adrift. He didn’t know what he was going to do with the rest of his life, let alone where he was going to live. But a miracle in the form of an ex-military general, and friend, Gilgamesh, had offered him a room at his house, and Cor couldn’t deny the offer. After all, where else would he go?

Gil, worried about him, pushed Cor into going to therapy, both physical and mental, and in the end, both therapists suggested some kind of hobby. Something to work his hands and to be mediative for his mind. Lost, Cor asked Gil, and the man shrugged and offered baking.

It was both harder and easier than he expected.

As as kid, and even to this day, he loved chemistry, and at realising there was an element of science to baking, what was once a reluctant exercise for his hands, became something he genuinely enjoyed.

And what really stood out to him, after he looked at his first home made bread, a little lop-sided and tasteless, was that he realised that the mistakes made in baking, had not had deadly consequences. No one had died, or was injured.

It was _okay_.

He had made a fucked up lump of bread, and there was no blood on his hands, just flour. He ended up having a panic attack in Gil’s kitchen, his racing mind finally crashing into a bodily reaction, unable to breath. The man’s husband, Ardyn, ended up having to comfort him, getting him to breath.

But with the knowledge that there was nothing wrong with making mistakes with this new hobby, he collected many books on the science of baking, and Gil moved around an entire cupboard in the kitchen until Cor had the place to put all his supplies he ended up buying over time. He worked a crappy job at a warehouse, lifting boxes, but poured his money into saving up for his own shop. He continued to go to his therapy session, and the pride in his therapist’s voice at how well he was adjusting had Cor standing up straighter with the sense of achievement.

Because he realised he wanted to create and make something in his life instead of following orders and killing. Gil was a saint, knowing exactly the position Cor was in, and happily let him stay in the room he had offered until Cor managed to get his feet out from under him.

And now, at thirty-one, he had managed to get his own shop. The name was Ardyn’s suggestion, saying that it matched the pun of the store name across the street, and Cor, despite his more stern nature, loved a good pun or joke.

Watching Prompto hop around the shop, wiping the display cases a few more times, Cor could say he was quite satisfied with the direction his life had turned. Sure, there were times he missed the weight of a gun, the adrenaline high during battle, but civilian life could be much worse.

The counter was to the right of the front door, extending length wise across the shop. He built it that way because the entrance to the kitchen was to the right of the back wall, making it easier to bring new batches into the main room. On the left side was a few wooden tables and chairs, with some framed photos of his own creations that Prompto had helpfully took.

Prompto was Gil and Ardyn’s adopted son, and when the teen asked to help work at his shop to help fund his photography classes, Cor obliged. The boy had a sunny disposition, and that friendliness would be perfect for talking to customers.

There wasn’t much in the way of decoration though, besides the photography. Interior decorating wasn’t his forte, military having beaten it out of him, leaving behind a utilitarian and plain taste for design. Ardyn had clucked his tongue in annoyance and came back the next day with white, linen curtains to hang in front of the window, some soft yellow table coverings, and a few potted cacti for the tables and window sill. Prompto had ended up adding some hanging glass crystal things-Cor had not idea what they were called-in the window frame, so the sun reflected dots of rainbows across the walls.

Cor had just sighed and allowed them to have free range, knowing he would only make it worse by trying to help. Instead he focused more on the construction side of things. For example, he had built the wooden slanted shelves on the wall behind the counter area, where his morning baked bread were sitting on, ready to be brought. In the display cases on either side of the register were filled with pastries and sandwiches of all kinds.

With a nod to Prompto to turn the door sign to be open, Cor carried out the small display board in hopes to attract pedestrians passing by. It spoke of today’s pastries and sandwiches, as well as mentioning that they sell hot beverages. Looking up at the sunny sky, Cor couldn’t help the swell of hope building in his chest at the new chapter in his life starting.

It was slow going at first with only a few people coming in over the past five hours, but when noon hit, there was a sudden rush, to where Cor had to leave the solitude of the kitchen to help ready orders as Prompto held valiantly well up against the many orders taken. They were quick on their feet, training doing well for Prompto who efficiently took orders and helped wrapped and boxed them. Cor worked mainly the beverages and flitted to and from the kitchen, needing to keep an eye on the food baking, and bringing out more pastries to fill the quickly emptying display cases. Thirty minutes after one, the tide slowed with the last person leaving with the bell ringing above them, and the males could breath an exhausted sigh of relief.

Turning to the teen, who was slumped against the back of one of the cases, Cor jerked a thumb at the display case. “Pick a left over sandwich and take a break, I can handle any customers from here.”

His wide, indigo eyes blinked up at him, “You sure, Cor?”

Cor cracked an approving smile and nodded, “Yeah kid, you did well with the rush.”

The blonde lit up with the compliment and started to turn to the display case but paused and asked, “What about you?”

Fondly looking at the boy and his concern, Cor ruffled his already disaster for hair, “I’m used to being on my feet a bit more than you are, squirt. I’ll be fine.”

The blonde bobbed his head in understanding, pouting as he tried to fix his hair, and went to the kitchen after snatching up a sandwich. With a sigh, Cor dragged a stool from under the counter and huffed in relief at being off his feet. Even if he was used to it, doesn’t mean he had to keep up with it. Perks of being retired he guessed.

He had just slumped onto the counter when the bell above the door rang, and Cor stifled a groan of annoyance at having to stand up again. Looking up, he had to stop himself from choking on his tongue at the woman who entered.

He had noticed, over the few months of reconstructing the bakery, that the woman across the street was quite beautiful. She had this almost, soft air around her as she left her shop during lunch breaks, wearing floral dresses and looking like the personification of spring. Cor could admit that he had developed a bit of a crush on her, but was too awkward to even try talking to the woman.

And now here she was, in all her red-head and floral printed glory, in his bakery. On opening day. She must have been wanting to take a look at it for awhile, being neighbours technically. Swallowing back the urge to bolt to the kitchen, he cleared his throat.

“Welcome to Combat Bready.”

When making eye contact, his gut clenched at her bright blue eyes, and the tips of his ear felt hot as she smiled back.

Walking up to the counter, she returned his greeting with a cheery smile, “Hello! I saw that you recently had a rush hour, and I hope I’m not too late to buy anything.” She said, taking a glance at the selection left over.

Still feeling hot in the face at her bubbly attitude, he answered, “We still have a small portion of this morning’s left.” And gestured to the display cases, letting her browse his creations. Movement at the corner of his eyes had him spotting Prompto peeking from behind the doorway, cheeks full with his sandwich. Cor made a shooing motion, and Prompto nodded and ducked back into the kitchen.

A sound of delight had him refocusing on the woman, staring at his lemon tarts. “Oh! You have something lemon flavoured left.”

The utter happiness on her face at such a simple pastry had his ego purring in delight, and nonchalantly asked, “Your favourite?”

Nodding vigorously, she spoke with such enthusiasm that she would get on well with Prompto, “I love lemon cakes, make a batch myself sometimes, though they will never be as good as my mother’s. But lemon anything, and I’m willing to try it. Nine out of ten times I end up liking it.” She informed him matter-of-factly.

Cor made a mental note to search into more lemon recipes later and started to prepare a small to go box for her selection. A lemon and poppy seed muffin went in with the tart, and one of the last BLT sandwiches joined them.

As he did so, she continued to chatter, Cor not finding her small talk as irritating as he usually would. He wasn’t fond of much talking, but maybe because it was her talking that he didn’t hate it. “I was so excited to find out what this new shop would be, watching the development across the way.”

Looking up from closing the boxed he asked, “I’m guessing you are a seamstress of some kind?” Her shop had this soft yellow painted on the door, and plants hanging above the windows on the outside. The exterior matched so well with her entire aesthetic, and he found it utterly charming. As well as the pun that inspired Ardyn: ‘Sew n’ Pressed’. The older man had chuckled with joy at the first sight of it.

Answering his question, she nodded her head, practically glowing with pride. “Yep! I mend and dry clean. As well as make adjustments and take commissions as well!”

His eyebrows rose at her description, and nodded, impressed. “That’s quite the diversity of jobs.”

Giving him another smile that had his heart racing like he was some teenage boy again, she hummed in agreement. “Mmhm, I quite enjoy it all, being a hobby since I was young.”

After ringing up her purchases and she paid, she took her food, “I most likely will be back, if your food is delicious as it looks.” She then teased, and sly grin across her face.

Cor then leant forward on his elbow, resting his hand in his palm as he purred lowly, confidence coming out of nowhere, “Please. All of it is as delicious as it looks.” And oops, did that come out too suggestive? Going by the way her face flushed as bright as her hair, he figured so. Letting out a shy smile, she left with a wave, Cor watching her retreating back as she crossed the street and re-entered her store.

He will definitely make it a point to talk to her again.

**Author's Note:**

> Righty-o! I had this au planned for ages and tomorrows prompt with be a continuation, because i didn’t fit as much as I wanted to in this one shot without it being too long. Sansa is 29, with Cor being 31, fyi. I have an entire backstory planned for Sansa and everything!
> 
> Also i hoped you liked the puns.


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